


Reincarnated

by Reckoning1187



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Assassin's Creed 1 - Fandom, Assassin's Creed 2 - Fandom
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Altaïr Doesn't Know How To Deal With Feelings, Altaïr Is A Secretive Little Shit, Altaïr Thinks He Doesn't Need Anyone, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, And School Just Started, Angst, Assassin's Creed I, Assassin's Creed II, Assassination, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Blood, Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Blood and Violence, Bottom Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, Boys In Love, Capture, Drowning, Eagle Vision (Assassin's Creed), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Language, Ezio Is In Love At First Sight, Ezio Will Teach HIm, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, I Screwed Up Assassin's Creed, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Injury, Injury Recovery, Kidnapping, Kisses, Language Barrier, Major Character Injury, Memory Loss, Minor Injuries, Murder, Pain, Pining, Protective Ezio Auditore da Firenze, Reincarnation, Screwed Up Timeline, Serious Injuries, Smut, Stabbing, Top Ezio Auditore da Firenze, Torture, Young Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, Young Ezio Auditore da Firenze, awake during surgery, first kiss (kinda), might edit tags later, oh well, stab wounds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 07:55:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26469802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reckoning1187/pseuds/Reckoning1187
Summary: He then flinched at the sight of white robes accented with red fleeing across the opposite roof. He was on his feet in seconds, giving chase. The more he looked at the figure, the more translucent they seemed; almost ghostlike. The white-clad ghost ducked into an alley, disappearing around the edge of the building. Ezio rounded the corner just to be frustrated by the lack of anyone there. It almost looked like... no — that wasn't possible.A fic where Ezio finds his true love in the most bizarre way and finds out that not everything is permitted.OrAltaïr arrives in 1500's Romagna while he studies the Apple.
Relationships: Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad/Claudio (Referenced), Ezio Auditore da Firenze/Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, Ezio Auditore da Firenze/Caterina Sforza, Niccolò Machiavelli/La Volpe (Referenced)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 55





	1. Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezio is about twenty-four here, while Altaïr is twenty-one.
> 
> ____________________________________________________________________________________

Ezio stayed the night on a lonely rooftop in Florence, enjoying the night sky and stars. He felt oddly estranged in his hometown. He woke several times in the night, the feeling of someone close by alerting him. He checked around with his eagle vision, but saw no one worth any attention nearby. He awoke a last time, just before dawn, with a frustrated grumble. He then flinched at the sight of white robes accented with red fleeing across the opposite roof. He was on his feet in seconds, giving chase. The more he looked at the figure, the more translucent they seemed; almost ghostlike. The white ghost ducked into an alley, disappearing around the edge of the building. Ezio rounded the corner just to be frustrated by the lack of anyone there. This repeated for the few nights leading up to his family’s deathday, leaving him more tired than he had felt in a long time. With the few chances he got to see the ghost with his second sight, a gold aura surrounded him and followed his footsteps, though never long enough for Ezio to track them. Come the day of, the ghost was gone entirely. Maybe he was going folle (crazy).

His family’s execution — more like murder — had been heartbreaking to say the least. Even after seven years of working to free Florence, Romagna and the other oppressed cities from Templar rule, their deaths were still ambushing his thoughts. Ezio stood from where he sat on the eagle perch. The church that he raced his fratello (brother) to all those years ago stood below him, stained a purple-blue in the twilight. He took one last look at the church before diving off of the wooden platform, flipping perfectly into the hay at the bottom. He made his way to the old Villa Auditore, stopping in front of the open gateway. He had never gone inside since his family’s execution — it felt too empty without his father and brothers to fill it. He walked away silently. The grieving could hold off for another year. Roma and Venice still had to be liberated. 

...

Ezio dismounted the horse he’d ridden from Florence, letting it roam about the stables. He chose a fresh horse and continued on his way into the heart of Romagna. Ezio’s eyes lingered on every white frock or robe on the way, but saw no sign of the ghost. He met Niccolò halfway to Tiber Island. 

“Ezio,” he greeted, dipping his head towards him. Ezio copied the movement and approached him. “Welcome back to Roma. I trust your trip went well?”

“As well as it could go, Niccolò. I thank you for meeting me here. You said there was something important that La Volpe wanted to talk about. What is it?”

Niccolò sighed in frustration. Ezio could see the tiny wrinkles that formed on his forehead. “Truth be told, I’m not sure. I only know what he’s disclosed to me.” 

“And I’m guessing that’s not very much.” It was a statement, not a question. “I assume you know where he wants to meet?” Niccolò nodded his head and gave a small smile, gesturing to the horses waiting for them. They started their route through the city — relatively slowly, unfortunately. The crowds were always the worst in the late mornings, just before the heat of the day struck upon their backs. “Is he still giving you trouble about that ordeal?”

“He’s… better,” Niccolò relented, eyeing the group of guards they passed cautiously. “He still distrusts me for having a contact in the Templar organization though. Nothing that won’t fade with time.” The man waved the subject off with his hand. They were quiet for most of the trip after that. By the time they arrived at La Volpe’s meeting place Ezio could feel the sun starting to seep through his clothing.

La Volpe was nowhere in sight. Ezio dismounted his horse, leading it to a fence post and tethering it. He looked around once again before he heard the soft call behind him. He looked up onto the roof where the master thief’s figure crouched, peering down at the two men expectantly. He quickly gestured for them to come onto the roof, afterwards placing a finger to his lips to silence their questions. 

“La Volpe, what are we doing here—” Ezio’s whisper was hushed by the thief’s gloved hand over his mouth. The hooded man looked out over the rooftops, towards one of the nearer Borgia towers that loomed over Roma. It had a strong hold over its surrounding district, and had been a challenge to infiltrate. Ezio knew from experience. He had managed to gain entry to the top of the tower, but had not been able to ignite it before a couple marksmen had nearly shot him off the structure. 

“He’s there.” La Volpe pointed discreetly towards the top of the tower, as if he was afraid he would be seen from that distance. The tower was a good fifty or sixty meters away. Ezio looked to where the thief was pointing. The three guards that patrolled the top of the tower were anything but abnormal. He looked closer, focusing his eyes as much as they would permit and waited a few seconds. A flash of white skirted around the tower’s base, quickly laying the man guarding there to rest. The figure climbed steadily up the tower’s walls, jumping from ledge to ledge with the ease of a practiced Assassin. The figure pulled a man from the top battlements, letting him fall to the roof below. Ezio could practically hear the snap of the man’s bones in his head. Before he could even blink, the assassin took out the other two men silently. That’s when the fireworks started. Ezio was on his horse by the time La Volpe or Niccolò could even get close to stopping him. 

“Ezio! Where are you going?” 

“I need to find out who that is! Meet me at Tiber Island tonight.” With that, he spurred his mount into action, nearly trampling a few of the people who were dodging out of the way of his horse. The horse made it into a full gallop and crossed the distance to the flaming Borgia tower in record time. He pulled back on the reins sharply enough that the horse let out a whinny. It had the desired effect. The beast lurched to a stop, allowing Ezio to see the white-clad figure leap from the blazing tower with a perfect leap of faith. They landed in the haystack on the opposite side of the tower from Ezio. The Italian Assassin lurched his horse into action again, rounding the building. He was just in time to see the figure climb from the hay and face him. His horse reared up at the close proximity to the man and almost came down upon him. There was no mistaking the white robes. This was his ghost, but he seemed… more solid this time. The man dove out of the way of the horse’s thrashing hooves and sprinted down the street. Curious Italians looked at the two Assassins, quickly getting out of their way. Ezio urged on his horse with a shout, galloping after the man. He quickly overcame his target. 

“Who are you, fratello?” The man stopped suddenly, causing Ezio to twist his head around to keep sight of him. The Assassin’s mouth twitched slightly in annoyance before he fled into an alleyway. “Stop!” Ezio wheeled his horse into an alley parallel to the man’s, catching small glimpses of him through the breaks between buildings. Carefully, Ezio stood up on his horse, leaping onto the roof as soon as it allowed him to. He dashed along the roof beside the Assassin, keeping an eye on him. The Assassin seemed to notice his overhead presence and quickly turned into an adjacent alley. Ezio turned with him, leaping the gaps in the buildings easily with his momentum. The Assassin turned another corner, breaking Ezio’s line of sight. By the time Ezio came to the corner, the Assassin was gone. The Italian Assassin blinked, the monotone presence of his eagle vision overcoming his sight. No telltale trace of gold. He was gone, again. 

When Ezio returned to the halls under Tiber Island, La Volpe, Niccolò and Caterina were waiting for him. Each had expectant looks on their faces. 

“I lost him. Dannazione (damn)! I almost had him, but he slipped away.” Caterina laid a hand on his shoulder, a little reassuring, a little enticing. Ezio sent her one of his charming smiles. “La Volpe, who was he?” The master thief’s eyes narrowed.

“It is… hard to say.” Ezio encouraged him to continue. “He appeared out of nowhere a few days before you arrived. Since then, he’s been burning down Borgia towers and gathering information on Cesare. I’ve sent entourages to try to follow him, meet with him, everything. He just seems to... scomparire (disappear). He seems to be helping our cause though, and to all outside appearances looks to be an Assassino (Assassin).” Ezio frowns, crossing his arms. 

“I will try to make contact with him when I can. In the meantime, are there any leads to where that merda (shit) Cesare is?”

…

Altaïr had finally lost the Italian Assassin. Good riddance. The Italian’s movements were quiet, but his voice was loud enough to set half the city guards on his tail. He looked out from behind one of the many doorways that littered his particular alley. Luckily the door had been unlocked, otherwise he would’ve had to continue running for who knows how long. His legs were practically trembling underneath him. 

“This is why horses shouldn’t be allowed in cities,” he muttered under his breath before stepping out of the doorway and into the street. The crowds hid him from prying eyes, though he kept a wary eye on his surroundings just in case.


	2. Water

Altaïr had visions for almost four days before he awoke in a different place than he fell asleep in. Each vision was of a small city or town — the same town every time — and always with someone watching him. He could never tell who it was due to his second sight being active the whole time. The rich gold that encoated their figure made him seek them out. Usually, the Levantine Assassin found them laying down on one of the city's high rooftops. Before he could fully wake them, he’d had the irresistible impulse to run or hide. It was against his will, but no matter how hard he tried to face them, he was always whisked away. Occasionally, the gold figure would give chase, ultimately failing to reach him in the end. Afterwards, Altaïr would wake up in his library, the Apple in hand or somewhere nearby; somewhere where he hadn’t left it. He felt the stiff, old aches in his body, and almost resented being pulled from the vision. He had grown dislike for his body ever since it started to react slower and not do the things he wanted it to. In his visions, his body was young and fit; no aches and pains in his joints and back, but fully in his prime again. 

Four days after the visions started, he woke up in a strange city — not the same one as before, but beautiful all the same. There were ruins almost everywhere, both recent and ancient. The problem was, no one spoke in his tongue. He couldn’t read the signs hung around the markets, and worst of all, he couldn’t ask for assistance. The people of this city looked at him strangely when he tried to converse with them, or ignored him altogether. 

It had taken him a while to find someone willing to teach him the language. He had said his name was Claudio. He was a thief of some sort, but his father worried constantly and made sure he didn’t get into too much trouble. That meant a lot of free time with Altaïr. They had become… friends in a sense. When Claudio wasn’t pilfering the locals’ money, he taught Altaïr the basics of his language. In exchange, Altaïr offered companionship and training. Claudio desperately wanted to become better at his family’s skills — that was, of course, thieving and sneaking. They had made a connection; the young boy’s good-hearted shyness was somewhat… cute. Claudio had also told him of the Borgia occupation in Romagna. (“You can just call it Roma for short,” he’d said after Altaïr had tried, and failed, to replicate the slippery sounds of the word. Italian was hard for someone who’d only spoken the comparatively guttural noises of Arabic their whole lives.) Altaïr had quickly figured out that the Borgia were Templars. He had learned to assassinate officials and burn down Borgia towers to help free the surrounding people from their influence. 

Altaïr had tried thinking back to how he had gotten to Roma in the first place, but his old life seemed to slip through his fingers. He found that he was forgetting almost everything that happened in his previous life. He still remembered Masyaf and Al Mualim at least— wait, hadn’t Al Mualim betrayed the Assassins? Even that started to slip through his fingers. 

The one thing that he didn’t like about Roma was the water. There was too much of it for Altaïr’s liking, and he didn’t particularly like the bridges and rooftops crossing it either. If he avoided the rivers and occasional wells, he’d be fine. Apparently all Italians could swim, so Altaïr kept his mouth shut about his inability to. To all those except Claudio, of course. (“Wait, you can’t swim?” Altaïr had nodded, not seeing the problem. “But everyone that I know can swim. Dannazione! I’d bet good money that everyone in Italia can swim!” The boy had burst out laughing, much to Altaïr’s humiliation.)

Things were relatively peaceful, that is, until he met the Assassin. He was loud and persistent, and also came with an entire (well, almost entire) army of thieves and spies looking for him and following him. A few had tried to make contact with him, including the Assassin, and none had prevailed so far. That wasn’t going to change now. 

Said Assassin followed Altaïr up the side of the Borgia tower, though not in time for the Italian to stop Altaïr from throwing the torch into the gunpowder barrels conveniently sitting out in the open. The building was already mostly on fire when the second Assassin reached the top. Altaïr already didn’t like this job because of the river that encompassed over half of the ground below the tower, but the persistent Assassin made it worse. 

“Would you stop?” Came the Italian’s shout as he climbed over the parapets. Altaïr glared as the man sidestepped a flaming beam and came closer. Instinctively, the Levantine Assassin released his hidden blade. It was meant to be a warning, but the Italian Assassin came closer still. His hands were out in front of him like Altaïr was some hissing stray cat that needed to be consoled. His brown eyes were calm, his mouth equally so. “Put your blade away. Possiamo parlare di questo (We can talk about this).” The confusion must’ve shown in Altaïr’s face, for the man dropped his hands, looking at him curiously. “You can’t understand me, can you?” 

“Well enough,” he said, in probably what was a mangled attempt at Italian. It was easier to listen than to speak, he found. Altaïr lunged forwards, his hidden blade and dagger coming up to meet the Assassin’s. Altaïr’s eyes narrowed at the two hidden blades on the man’s wrists. The Assassin grit his teeth, his stance widening before he pushed Altaïr backwards into the parapet. He moved quickly, gripping Altaïr’s wrists tightly. The Assassin’s body practically crushed him against the wall, entrapping his legs. Altaïr struggled against his superior body mass, all the while pushing his blade towards the Assassin’s neck. With a final push, Altaïr got the man off of him. He quickly dodged a burning timber as it fell to the floor. Without another glance at the Assassin, Altaïr looked over the side of the parapet where the eagle perch was. His stomach jumped uneasily. There was no haystack. The logical thing for an Assassin to do was to dive into the water — correction, an Italian Assassin.

...

“I don’t want to do this fratello. Per favore (please), stop.” Ezio gripped the man’s wrist so tightly it would probably bruise. The dagger dropped from his hand, clattering against the floor. Ezio caught a glimpse of the shadowed face under the hood as the Assassin pushed against him, hard. His eyes were a soft brown, visible flecks of gold scattered at the edges of his irises. They glared at him as Ezio stumbled backwards. The Assassin quickly avoided another flaming plank of wood as it fell from the ceiling, creating a wall between the two men. He cast an uneasy glance over the side of the tower. Ezio could see some kind of realization appear in his eyes as he pulled back hastily from the edge. 

That was… odd, to say the least. The Assassin had shown no fear in his previous leaps. Ezio ducked under the burning timber, finding the Assassin on the edge of the eagle perch. Gold eyes flicked towards Ezio. A shot resounded in the air. The Assassin’s face contorted with pain suddenly. Ezio saw red start to stain his white robes near his shoulder. The man’s body went limp, falling over the side of the perch rather than jumping. Ezio was soon to follow, executing a clean dive off the ledge. He saw the Assassin’s body hit the water at an odd angle. The water was chilling as it embraced Ezio’s body, and he quickly kicked for the surface. Pulling himself up onto the dock, he was surprised to see Claudio waiting to help him up. Fear showed plainly in his face. 

“Claudio,” he said, taking the offered hand. “What are you doing here?” The boy looked between Ezio and the water, startled. 

“He- He was teaching me— I- I came to watch…” He trailed off, before blurting out: “Signore Ezio, he can’t swim!” The boy started to descend the stairs to the water. Why was the Assassin teaching Claudio? Ezio put off his confusion and stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. 

“I will get him. Stay ashore and tell me if any guards are coming.” The boy nodded and Ezio dove off of the dock, back into the frigid water.

He searched around the murky water until his lungs burned. He returned to the surface only briefly for a gulp of air before returning to the silty depths. He blinked his eagle vision into effect, finding the dim trace of gold in the water. He swam towards it, his limbs working hard through numbness. He reached the man, scooping up the Assassin from the stagnant water. He breached the surface with a gasp, using an arm to keep the Assassin’s head above the water while the other was used to swim towards the shore. To put it simply, it was a difficult task. Claudio helped pull the two men free from the water when they got close enough to the dock. Ezio forgot his air-deprived lungs as he turned to the Assassin. His chest was still, his golden eyes hidden behind heavy lids. 

Merda.


	3. Surgery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be advised that this chapter has graphic surgery and injury.
> 
> ___________________________________________________________________________________

“Altaïr? Altaïr wake up!” Ezio stiffened. Altaïr? As in the Levantine Assassin, Altaïr? A few days ago, Ezio would’ve said that it was impossible. Now? He wasn’t so sure. Claudio rushed over to the man, his hands hovering over his body, unsure. The boy looked to Ezio with pleading eyes for guidance. Honestly, he didn’t have the faintest idea. He could treat wounds from guns and blades, but to pull someone back from drowning? Luckily, he didn’t have to. 

The Assassin jerked and rolled onto his side, up onto his elbows, water spilling from his lungs in several choking coughs. His chest rose and fell rapidly, taking in the much-needed air. His arms shook under him, and Ezio carefully helped the man support his own weight. Altaïr fell limp once more, though the movement of his chest sent waves of relief through Ezio. Trying to avoid the injury in his shoulder, Ezio carefully picked up the Assassin, Altaïr’s back and knees over his arms. He found the Assassin unusually light, despite his sodden clothing.

“Claudio, per favore, help me get him to a dottore (doctor).” The boy was silent with relief — both at Ezio’s willingness to help and at Altaïr’s recovery — and moved with haste through the crowds of people. Ezio followed Claudio at a slower pace, trying not to jostle Altaïr’s injury further. The boy spoke briefly with some nearby mercenaries, persuading them to distract a nearby patrol of guards. He beckoned Ezio to the nearby doctor’s stall, indicating that the coast was clear. 

“Dottore,” Ezio greeted as they stepped into the shop. He set down his burden on the table that the doctor had cleared for Altaïr. The doctor went straight to work, peeling Altaïr’s dripping-wet clothing away from the wound. The dottore accepted Ezio as an assistant silently. Claudio watched in the corner. 

“Maestro Ezio, the bullet remains embedded in his flesh. We will have to remove it.” Ezio nodded, but shivered at the thought. It was a rare occasion that he got shot at all, but he’d had a bullet removed before — it wasn’t pleasant. 

“What must I do Dottore?”

“Hold him down. He must not move, else I may cause more damage than relief. He must stay awake and he must not bite his tongue.” Ezio reached for a clean rag, folding it thickly. The dottore pressed down firmly on the wound, causing a sharp gasp from Altaïr. His gold eyes opened, struggling to focus on his surroundings. He tried to sit up, but was stopped by Ezio’s hands. He mumbled something in his native tongue, the consonants cracking against each other. 

“Claudio, do you know what he’s saying?” The boy shook his head, coming beside the table. Altaïr visibly relaxed — though still eying Ezio and the doctor suspiciously — and blinked up at the thief. 

“Piccolo amico (little friend).” He spoke softly in mangled Italian, wincing as the dottore cleaned the blood off of the wound. “Where...?” 

“The dottore, amico alto (tall friend). He will help you.” Claudio put his hands in Altaïr’s giving it a light squeeze in reassurance. 

“Bite on this, fratello. He will help you, but you must stay awake,” Ezio warned. Altaïr nodded and took the rag between his teeth, clamping his teeth down on it firmly. Ezio saw no trace of fear in the Assassin’s golden eyes, even as the dottore began. He bit down harder on the cloth, his hand no doubt bruising Claudio’s with how hard he was squeezing. His wet eyes never left the forceps as they pushed into his shoulder, clamping around the bullet. He practically fell limp with relief when the pincers and bullet were removed, his breaths sharp and pained. His hand loosened around Claudio’s and he turned his head to the side, spitting out the rag. The last few stitches were tied off and the wound wrapped in thick linen. Altaïr’s clothes were replaced with dry ones; a simple shirt and trousers that Claudio had managed to scrounge up. It was impressive to see the Assassin keep so much of his composure during the surgery. Not once had the Assassin cried out in pain, and not once did he thrash against Ezio’s hold. 

Ezio caught sight of a tear trailing down the man’s face. Absentmindedly, Ezio tenderly wiped the droplet away, causing meticulous golden eyes to fix on him again. They soon fell feverishly closed, allowing the man some much-needed rest. After the doctor was paid his due, Ezio carefully picked up the Assassin, following Claudio out of the shop. It was already dark outside. So much for meeting with Niccolò at Tiber Island tonight. 

“Claudio, your home is nearby, correct? I’d like to keep an eye on him, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course Signore Ezio, though I hope you don’t care too much for comfortable beds.” The boy smiled and led the way through the dim streets. Claudio’s father, Trimalchio, greeted them when they arrived, fretting over their sparse furniture and belongings to receive a guest. It came to Ezio’s attention that Altaïr lived with the family of thieves and learned Italian from them to the best of his ability. In return for their hospitality and teachings, Altaïr had been giving Claudio lessons in parkour and thieving, as well as stealing his share to provide for the family. 

Ezio looked around the small room that was Altaïr’s, noting the lack of furniture. What made for a bed was a simple mat on the floor and several old pillows. Ezio laid the sleeping Assassin here and took up the wall on the opposite side of the room. He looked at the man’s unconscious form from there, his eyes lingering on his now-exposed face. The statue in the Sanctuary didn’t honor the youthful beauty of the man at all, he found, then blushed at the thought. With a final look at him, Ezio settled down to sleep. 

He woke with a blade at his throat.

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to comment!! It helps the writing process along! :D


End file.
